The Distance Apart
by jhoom
Summary: In the heat of an argument, the Lone Wanderer fires Charon. The two part ways but eventually find their way back to each other. How will they react to seeing each other after their time apart? Kink meme fill. M for language and eventual lemon.
1. Careless

**AN:** This is a fill for the fallout kink meme. I really like this pairing and wanted to something outside of my usual ME2 / DBZ fics. I haven't actually played Fallout 3 since Mothership Zeta, so I'm purposely vague on some of the details (and please let me know if I still manage to them up). I'm also purposely vague about the Lone Wanderer - any descriptions of her appearance will be very generic and I will not ever include a name for her.

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><p><strong>The Distance Apart<strong>

He was dead. Gone. Never coming back.

Those words haunted her every night as she curled up by a fire and tried to fall asleep. Nothing in the Wastes that she'd seen or done had hurt her as much as the thought of her father's death.

She'd been half an orphan all her life. Never had a mother, and the last few months she hadn't had a proper father either. But the finality of his death, his heart actually stopping cold in his chest, brought the reality crashing down on her in an almost tangible way. She'd think about her abandonment – first in the vault and now yet again – and the weight of it would constrict around her chest, making it physically painful to breath.

But even as she lay there, curled up in a ball and hugging her knees in an attempt to keep herself physically and emotionally together, whimpering in the dark light of a make-shift fire, she couldn't find it in her to blame her father. Yes, he'd left her alone in what at best of times was a cruel world, but he'd done it for the greater good. She could forgive him for dying on her. Even if it hurt to do it because that just meant acknowledging that he was in fact dead. Gone. Never coming back.

Not to say she didn't feel angry. Pissed off even. She just didn't turn that rage and frustration against the memory of the good man that was her father. Instead she let all that aggression out on every mother-fucker in the Wastes who even _thought_ about picking a fight with her.

Back when she was looking for her father, she'd learned pretty quickly how to handle herself. Her aim had improved drastically, she could spot possible hostiles decently well and could avoid them with ease. But it was different now. There was no skirting around a group of super mutants, holding her breath as a feral ghoul passed, or praying that nearby death claw didn't charge. She'd see a fight and she'd head right into it, guns blazing and a war-like screech resounding from her.

Today was apparently no different.

They'd come across a camp of raiders early in the day. Five of them. Hardly a challenge any more, but it got her blood pumping and the adrenaline flowing. An outlet for all the shit she kept bottled up. Something to fucking kill. And not just kill, but completely _obliterate_. She couldn't help the smile as she started shooting.

She'd gotten a lucky headshot on the first one – taken the fucker totally by surprise – and ran past the stream of blood and the falling body. She ignored the three other raiders that were charging her, screaming curses and brandishing their weapons, and headed straight for the leader. She'd sized them up beforehand – the big guy was the only one that looked like he'd actually be a challenge.

She ignored the sound of bullets, didn't feel the shotgun blast that grazed her leg. In the heat of the moment, she wasn't sure if the shrieking ululations were coming from her or her prey. All she saw was the fury and then fear in his eyes as he ran out of bullets and fell back, his blood gushing from the wounds to his chest.

Splattered in blood, she was sure she was a sight to be seen as she threw her own gun aside and picked up a rusty pipe from nearby. If their places had been reversed, she was sure she'd be pissing her pants too. Each blow to the already fallen raider was cathartic and goddamn near spiritual in the effect it had on her spirits. She imagined each strike was aimed for one of the bastards that had caused her father's death.

THUD.

Fuck the Enclave.

THUD.

Fuck the Brotherhood.

THUD.

Fuck Vault 101.

THUD.

Fuck Project Purity.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

Music to her goddamn ears.

She ignored the mutilated mess beneath her – dead long before she was done with it – and threw the pipe aside. She wiped the red smears off her face as she headed over to retrieve her gun.

Even though it'd been satisfying in that terribly primal sort of way to beat that poor man into a lifeless pulp of flesh and bone, she was still on edge. It was never enough anymore. This blood-letting was becoming an addiction, the only way to calm her nerves and make her forget about her father.

She turned around to find Charon surrounded by the three raiders he'd been left to deal with.

Charon. Her mood softened only slightly as she saw him. He had been her constant companion since she'd purchased his contract. The taciturn ghoul was a huge asset, especially to a newbie to the Wastes. She'd grown used to his company over the past few weeks (months? Hell, she was terrible at keeping track of time without the Vault's computers to help her). Up to when she'd found her father, he was her only real confidant and she was beginning to consider him a friend. Scratch that, she _had_ considered him a friend.

And then her father had died. And the fucking ghoul didn't seem to care.

She knew it wasn't fair of her to be upset at him about it. She was his employer, as he never failed to point out. Her emotional well-being wasn't his concern – just her orders. Never mind that he'd never seemed to have a _normal_ life with all its normal human interactions. He probably didn't realize what was going on in her head at night. If he did, he probably had no experience with how to comfort her.

But goddamnit she was upset. He was her friend. He should fucking _do_ something.

And there he was, glaring at her as he polished his gun. That fucking gun. He cared more about it than he did her. Asshole. Maybe under other circumstances, she'd stop to think why that idea bothered her so much.

"What?" she snapped at him, hands automatically going to her hips.

"It's not my place to say anything." The whole time giving her that dirty look. Polishing that goddamn gun.

"I already told you," one hand went up and was waved in annoyance, "Just speak your mind. You got something to say, say it."

He seemed to chew on that for a moment. His tongue moved slightly in his mouth as if he was trying out the words before giving them voice. "You're being careless."

Her brow knit in confusion. Of all the things she expected him to say, something as mild as 'careless' was not among them. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Charon didn't want to get into this. He had his concerns about her recent behavior, but he really _didn't_ think it was his place to say anything. And not just because of the damn contract. Showing her that he cared for her in any sort of way beyond the paper in her back pocket was the last thing he wanted to do. Ever. Which was why he had to choose his words carefully and keep the focus on _her_ instead of turn it on _him._

"Since when is it a good idea to charge past three armed assailants to focus solely on one?"

"Maybe I trust you to fucking do your job and watch my back." She was slightly annoyed when he didn't react to the jab.

"What about the super mutants yesterday?" She'd shouted to get their attention. "Or the mirelurks a few days ago?" She was knee deep in the water before he'd managed to catch up and put a bullet in the one sneaking up behind her. "Or the ferals last week?" She hadn't even bothered putting on her ghoul mask anymore – she'd make as much noise as possible whenever they traveled in the tunnels. "You're purposely putting yourself in dangerous combat situations."

Her glare matched his as she now crossed her arms over her chest. He hated when she got pissed off. Something about it always made him uneasy. Probably because it never ended well for the person on the receiving end of her temper. But she wanted his opinion, and she wanted him to be honest. And he was legitimately concerned that she'd get them both killed within a month at this rate. It was his duty to protect his employer.

Yes. His duty.

As if that was what made his heart skip a beat every time she nearly got her head blown off or her body impaled.

She just continued to shoot daggers at him. He could almost feel her anger at him boiling beneath the surface. It was probably the dumbest thing he could do right now, but for some reason he kept going. "If you don't stop looking for kicks by almost getting your brains shot out, then eventually they _will_ be shot out."

"How _dare_ you," she hissed at him.

"You asked me to speak my mind," he stated flatly.

"All you fucking notice is that I'm being a bit more…" she struggled to find a word that wasn't as insulting as 'careless' but gave up. "Is all you care about my 'combat survival'? After all the time you've spent watching my back out here, all you can fucking think of me is that I'm some goddamned adrenaline junky who's trying to get herself killed!"

"As you are my employer, my only concern is to serve and protect you. Your reasons are your own."

And then it hit her.

_I'm just another goddamn job to him._

"You're fired," she spat at him with as much malice as she could find.

He didn't understand her. The words didn't make any sense to him. She was… _firing_ him? "What?"

"What? Your brain rotting away like the rest of you? You fucking heard me! You're fired! Get the fuck away from me!" She was screaming in frustration.

The two starred at each other across the raider camp for a few moments. The silence stretched on until neither was sure how long it had been. As their anger died down the impact of what had just happened began to creep its way into their understanding.

In the heat of the moment, she had meant it. One hundred percent. But as the seconds passed and her anger fizzled out, as she saw what she thought might be hurt replace the confusion in his eyes, she regretted it more and more.

"Charon," she whispered, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I was just angry. I-"

"No," he cut her off and stood abruptly. He hoped his voice gave nothing away. "I understand. It's part of the contract. My employer has the right to terminate my services whenever he or she sees fit."

"No, please, Charon, I really didn't mean it at all-" _Oh god let me take it back, please let me take it back._

He held up a hand to stop her. "You no longer require my services. I will not impose myself on you any longer." He slung his gun around his shoulder and started to walk away. He couldn't look at her right now, and he tried not to think about the very real possibility that he'd never see her again.

Charon could feel her eyes on him, but he forced one foot in front of the other. Kept going in a straight line, no idea where he was headed, until he was sure he was out of sight. And then he kept going some more just to be sure.

_I'm just another goddamn job. And like a fucking idiot, I fired him. _

Biting back tears, she turned and walked in the opposite direction.


	2. Regret

**The Distance Apart**

Charon regretted leaving as soon as he did it. Or rather, the next day when he first realized he actually _had_ left her. Alone.

He should have stayed. But what was he supposed to do? He may have been a slave to his contract for most of his life, but he had felt it beneath his dignity to beg her to stay. For over a year (fourteen months, seven days, and yes, he was still counting), he'd regretted that damn show of pride.

The day after it happened, he'd gone back to the raider camp. To this day, he still had no idea what he had planned to do. If he would've gotten on his knees and pleaded to come with her. If he would've just followed behind at a distance, satisfied to be keeping her safe. But she was gone. And the girl knew what she was doing - not a damn track or clue as to where she had headed.

But it was a lie to say he couldn't have found her. He'd heard her talk about her place in Megaton. Knew she would be visiting the Brotherhood sooner or later. And there was no way she'd let Project Purity go. But after a couple weeks… the idea of seeing her again bothered him almost as much as never seeing her again.

What would he say? What would _she_ say? Why did he even _want_ to see her again?

Charon sure as fuck wasn't going back to Underworld. Aside from not particularly caring for anyone there (or elsewhere, for that matter), there was nothing for him to _do_ there. Was he just supposed to sit on his ass at Carol's? And in the end it all came back to _her_. She'd be back there, eventually. He wouldn't let her find him there, pathetic and lost without her. Regardless of how true that sometimes felt.

_It's not because of _her, he'd scold himself. It was not having an employer. He'd been bound by his contract for so long he didn't really remember anything else. Freedom was disconcerting. It was an odd feeling, a strange sort of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach when he had to make decisions. He could sleep whenever he wanted. Go wherever he wanted. Do whatever he wanted. Talk to whomever he wanted.

At night he tried to ignore the fact that maybe there was _one_ person he could not talk to whenever he wanted.

It was lonely out in the Wastes. He'd never noticed that before. Or maybe it'd just never bothered him.

But it _did_ bother him now. Like a gentle nagging in the back of his mind telling him that something was wrong. So he started hiring himself out as a mercenary to small settlements (never too close to anything big – he wanted the luxury of remaining anonymous). The… whatever it was that was bothering him wasn't so bad when he was around other people. But after a few months, he had to admit that it was still there. All he could do was cover it up.

He heard them talk about her on the radio sometimes. Alright, a lot of times. She was all they seemed to care about. They never said her name, but it could only be her. Finishing Project Purity and fucking up the Enclave. Yeah, no one else would have tried, let alone been able to actually do it.

Knowing what she'd accomplished, he couldn't help but feel proud. And then he'd realized he'd helped her get there only to not see things to the end. That she'd done all that without him. _Without_ him. Like he'd been useless, like she'd never needed him.

Like she didn't even care that he was _gone_.

But that was probably true anyway.

* * *

><p>They called her the Lone Wanderer, which she thought was ridiculous. Sure, she wandered, but she'd worked with the Brotherhood. She'd done some work with Reiley's Rangers. Hell, she still dragged Fawkes around every now and then. So the idea that she was a "Lone" Wanderer didn't make sense to her.<p>

I mean, how the fuck did everyone know she'd been lonely since Charon'd left her? And yes, pretending that Charon had left _her_ made it easier than having to remember that she'd fired _him_.

She had friends enough in pretty much every settlement in the Wastes (with the possible exception of Paradise Falls). She had drinking buddies to spare. Hell, she even had herself a beau or two to keep her warm at night.

But goddamn, none of them made her feel as safe as when she'd been with Charon.

Maybe it was because he was the first one she'd really fought along side of. Maybe it was because he'd been there when her father had died. Maybe it was all the nights sitting around a fire together, her babbling on and on and him just listening. Hell if she knew why she missed him. Most of the time she just wished she didn't.

She'd gotten away from that damn raider camp as fast as she could, and ever since she'd gone out of her way to avoid that general area, as if it were toxic. The memory of it was, anyway. For a while, she'd avoided all the big places and just went around killing things until she felt a little less sorry for herself. Every night she'd find a place to lie low and sleep a dreamless, restless sleep. But even as she found herself mourning her father and the loss of her only real friend, she felt her father's work calling to her.

She was surprised how much it helped her forget Charon - no. That's not what she meant. How much it helped her forget her father's death. Doing something worthwhile to help the people in the Wastes… she couldn't help but feel that wherever he was, he was proud of her.

And then she had almost died starting the Purifier. Hell, at the time she was sure she _was_ dead. And as the radiation was choking the life out of her, in her last moments of consciousness it wasn't her parents or Amata or Sarah Lyons or the life she was losing that plagued her with regret and loss. Her mind had clung to the image of Charon and how damned sad he'd looked when she'd fired him.

Of course, when she was conscious and not doped up on enough radiation to make a ghoul feral, she was able to convince herself that she was being silly. Had imagined his reaction being worse than it really was.

But the image still haunted her dreams and wouldn't let her sleep in peace.

After she'd dealt with the Enclave – fucking bastards required a goddamn orbital strike to get them to leave her the fuck alone, and the assholes STILL had the audacity to show up every now and then – she decided that the only thing to do was to find Charon. Her plan hadn't really formed much beyond that, but she was sure she'd figure out what to say if she saw him face to face. At least she could apologize for being such a bitch to him while she dealt with her dad's death. Maybe she could convince him to-

_NO. Stop it._ She'd mentally slap herself, force herself from thinking those dangerous hopes.

But she'd gone everywhere they'd ever been together, starting of course with Underworld. No matter where she went or who she asked, the answer was always the same. They hadn't seen him since he was last there with her. Hadn't heard anything, either.

"GODDAMNIT!" she yelled in frustration as she beat the door of a storage locker off its hinges, her knuckles bruising under her gloves. She fucking hated not knowing what had happened to him. Had he _left_ the Capital Wastes? Was he _dead_? What. The fuck. Had happened.

She leaned back against the wall of her home and slumped down to the ground, suddenly very tired. It'd been over a year. She may be shit poor of keeping track of passing time, but she knew it'd been over a year because she'd been fucking _miserable _for a year. She really just had to let it go. Move on and deal with the fact that even if he wasn't dead, she was never going to see him again. Period.

She hit the back of her head against the wall repeatedly and tried to drill that thought into it.

Why was that idea so fucking _intolerable_ to her?

But of course, she knew why. Because when her dad had died, it was too late to do anything. No power on this earth could bring him back. But Charon was still out there. She _could_ do something. And that's what was killing her. She could _do_ something – she just had no fucking idea _what_ to do.

And she let that realization fester in her chest for a little bit.

Maybe not dead, but gone. Never coming back.


	3. Serendipity

**The Distance Apart**

Money was tight. It was probably the first time in some two hundred years that he'd actually had to worry about his finances. It's not that he had ever stopped eating during that time… he'd just never had to pay for it. And ammo was expensive. Stimpaks were expensive. Everything was really fucking expensive when you had to work for it.

Charon had managed by doing odd jobs here and there for some of the smaller settlements that were, as best as he could recall, more in what used to be Maryland than DC. But the real caps were in killing super mutants, and the big super mutant infestations were in DC. Which was problematic, to say the least.

He'd been very careful at staying out of the thick of things. But even ghouls needed more than the occasional braham steak to keep functioning. And he knew from experience that there was always someone in the Capital who wanted someone else dead, and didn't give a shit if it was a ghoul they were paying to do it. So when his stomach couldn't stand it anymore, he decided to head a little ways into the Capital Wastes.

It hadn't changed at all in the past year. Though it really hadn't changed must in the past century, so he wasn't sure what he had been expecting. He felt on edge as he made his way to his next job, working off a lead someone had given him up in Silver Spring, and his unease had nothing to do with scenery.

He hated acknowledging it. Thought it made him pretty damn weak. But that smoothskin Vault kid had gotten under his skin in the short time he'd known her. While half of him screamed that he needed to _find_ her and _see _her and… _something_, the other half of him was dead set against it. She'd _fired_ him. There was still salt in that wound and he would need another decade or two to brood on it before he thought he'd be able to face her again with any show of indifference.

But like hell he was going to let her keep him out of DC. It was a big place. The likelihood of them running in to each other – because he was _definitely_ going to continue avoiding her – was very low. All he had to do was stick to people who'd never met the "Lone Wanderer," the "Messiah of the Wastes" or whatever other nonsense these people said. No Rivet City, no Megaton, no Underworld, hell, no Paradise Falls just to be sure.

He sighed heavily.

No Lone Wanderer.

* * *

><p>She'd gotten word from the good ol' Republic of Dave that there were Super Mutant problems in the Northeast. Normally she wouldn't care – there were Super Mutant problems <em>everywhere<em> – but it did seem odd for such a (reportedly) large cluster of them to be in that area. And she felt she owned Rosie a solid favor for sticking her in charge.

Lots of the smaller settlements in the area were willing to let her stay a night or two as she hunted the mutants during the day. Several of them even offered to pay her – hell, they even admitted to hiring out some mercs to take care of the problem – but she'd just smile and dismiss their offers. She had more caps than she could ever possibly spend – why the fuck would she want more? Especially to do something she was more than happy to do for free.

She'd briefly considered asking Fawkes to join her, but dismissed the idea. She felt bad asking him to help her kill his own kind (even allowing for the fact that he was much smarter and more reasonable). Besides, she hadn't been good company lately. Leo Stahl had said as much when she'd kicked him out of her bed a few weeks ago.

_He was more fun when he was a junkie,_ she thought dryly.

Oh well, she wasn't particularly interested in Leo anyway. Just someone to help her pass the time while in Megaton. Decent guy (former drug problem aside), but not her type.

What _was_ her type, anyway?

If she considered every guy she'd been with in the past year (only seven or so – not a low number, but relatively modest, she thought), she'd gotten bored of all of them pretty easily. It didn't take her long to find something she didn't like about them. Something that for some reason she couldn't ignore for the sake of all the good qualities they had. But what was she being picky for? Who was she even looking for?

On a _completely_ unrelated topic, or so she told herself, she'd started dreaming of Charon in the last few months. Nothing really concrete or clear. Just him being back, fighting with her again. She wasn't sure if she liked this or not. Sure, she'd wake up with a smile on her lips, but when she realized it had only been a dream there would be a tightening in her chest and a pain in her gut. Whatever that meant.

And now here she was, cornered behind a car on a bridge overlooking a not so modest sized drop on to the scrap metal remains of other vehicles that had fallen years ago when the other half of the bridge had collapsed. Overall, lovely place to die. At least, she'd been in worse.

She'd been a little… The word "careless" came to mind in the voice of her former ghoul companion, but she shoved it aside. No. Overzealous. That was a much better word.

She'd been a little overzealous. Seen a couple mutants at the collapsed portion of the bridge, fighting over the remains of a dead body. Fucking weirdos. So she'd charged, screaming a battle cry that surprisingly managed to startle them long enough for her to pump them full of lead. Unfortunately, her scream had alerted their buddies, who were now blocking her way off said bridge.

As she counted out her ammo and wondered if it was worth using a grenade, she laughed humorlessly to herself. It made her think a little more about why she'd _really_ taken this super mutant gig. She sure as hell loved killing the bastards, but she didn't have to go this far out of her way to do it. Any time she visited Three Dog she'd get her fair share to deal with. If she thought about it, actually analyzed her decision, she had only two explanations why she was repeatedly taking these ridiculously dangerous and in a lot of ways pointless jobs.

Either she was so bored she'd do ANYTHING to break up the monotony. _A boredom that was essentially no different from a death wish_, she couldn't help but think as she peeked around the edge of the car to see the mutants making their way closer. She ducked back quickly as a spray of bullets was aimed towards her.

Why did super mutants have to be so… _big_?

But if she was honest with herself – which she usually wasn't unless it was in near-death instances like the present one – the real reason she took these backwater jobs was… she just wanted to see Charon again. If she worked outside of her usual circles, strayed a little farther away from the Mall, maybe she'd eventually find _someone_ who had heard of him. Didn't it stand to reason that _someone_ in this fucking Wasteland knew where he was? He couldn't just disappear off the face of the planet.

The sound of a shotgun drew her attention. It sounded too far away to be the mutants, unless _more_ of them were making their way over. Which was the last fucking thing she needed. She chanced another look, this time through the remains of the glass windows. The image was a little blurry, but it was obviously a man. The details of his appearance escaped her. Didn't much matter. Non-mutant fighting mutant and saving her ass. Who gave a crap who it was?

The super mutants turned their attention to new arrival, leaving their backs exposed to her assault rifle. Even her peaceful father, god rest his soul, would forgive the evil smirk as she opened fire.

The other merc – god, she really fucking hated to admit that that's basically what she was – was shooting from the other side of the bridge. You know, the side she'd come in on. The one that was her only way out of this shit hole. _That_ side.

Between the two of them, they were making short work of the Mutants. The whole thing – the speed and efficiency with which they worked, the sound of his shotgun, the way he moved – pulled at her insides. She ignored the adrenaline pumping through her veins and the fire that danced beneath her skin as some latent memory was triggered. Instead she just kept shooting.

When all ten of them (_Ten, for fuck's sake!_) were taken care of, she immediately holstered her gun and began picking the bodies for loot. She might be rich as sin, but old habits and all. As she stood up from the third completely useless body (_Not even a fucking cap! Not one. Single. Bloody. Cap.)_, she couldn't help the exasperated huff of air she blew out. Oh well, at least she'd gotten to kill something.

She heard the merc approaching slowly behind her. She ignored him as she moved on to the next mutant. If he'd wanted to kill her, he would've done it already. And she wasn't really in the mood to talk. Maybe he'd get the hint. She kicked angrily at the body when it produced only some pre-war money. And the damn paper _smelt_, covered as it was with super mutant perspiration. Fucking fantastic.

She could tell the guy was probably five, maybe ten?, feet behind her and had planted himself firmly. "Thanks for your help and all," she said dismissively, "but I'm not much of the talking type." She laughed in her head, remembering a time when that hadn't been true.

And then he said her name. A voice she'd never forgotten, and was now sure she must be imagining. Even so, her body immediately froze, every muscle going tense.

No. Fucking. Way.

* * *

><p>Charon hadn't thought today would be half as interesting as it had turned out. After killing a deathclaw that had been fighting some radscoprions, he'd gotten a free meal from some Scavenger who was grateful. Then the guy had started going on and on about the Lone Wanderer and how she was helping them out with the Super Mutants here and had he heard of her etc. Luckily Charon had remembered not to give his name. Now he'd just have to get out of the area before he ran into her.<p>

Then he'd managed to come across a pack of Super Mutants – and there was really no other way to describe them, their numbers hovering around a dozen – and had trailed them all the way to a burnt out bridge. He was thinking how best to blast them without getting himself blown to bits, when they had sped up onto the bridge.

_What the hell?_

Then they'd started shooting. For a minute he thought they were shooting at him, but they appeared to have not noticed him. There was someone on the bridge, presumably, that had gotten their attention. As he edged closer, he thought he saw a small figure hiding behind a car, two dead mutants nearby. Well, at least he knew what they were shooting at.

He wasn't sure why his protective instincts were triggered. He thought he didn't have any. At least not once his contract had been dissolved. And even then, it was more of an obligation than a desire to help. Whatever the reason, he found himself moving out of cover and shooting for their exposed backs.

During a fight, he always lost focus of anything that wasn't completely relevant to his survival (or to the survival of his employer). He noticed in an offhand sort of way that the person behind the car had decided to join the fight (Charon was right – he _was_ small). Acknowledged that they seemed to anticipate each other's moves, never going for the same target but instead systematically making their way from opposite ends towards those in the center.

Before the last mutant had finished hitting the ground, the kid (must be a kid to be so small – certainly no more than twenty) began looting the bodies. Charon lowered his weapon but out of habit didn't put it away. The kid might be grateful for getting his ass saved, but in the Wastes that didn't stop people form putting a bullet in your brain. Especially if you were a ghoul.

He was about to leave, to not even bother with a greeting or any other such nonsense, when he happened to glance at the form picking through bodies. Something about the figure held his attention.

Small indeed, but as he looked over her back he realized it was because it was a girl. The prominent curves of her hips indicated that she was not actually a _girl_ so much as a _woman_. Obviously not as tall as him, but not actually all that short. By no means a giant, she seemed… properly sized. The illusion of smallness came from her lithe form and tight armor. She was not one to take up more space than necessary.

Still, just because he'd saved some woman's life, didn't mean he had to stay and talk about it. He still had to get out of here as soon as possible if he wanted to avoid _her_. But he was transfixed as he watched her (familiar?) movements. He didn't even realize he'd moved towards her until he was close enough to hear her frustration with the empty corpses. He watched as she kicked one of the bodies, not at all sure why he was still there.

And then she spoke and his world stopped. He knew that voice. God, did he know that voice.

His breath went in sharply, almost painfully, and as it came out it tore her name from his lips. She froze, as if she'd been hit, and turned her icy glare towards him. Her eyes met his, and he swore his heart stopped.

Shit.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Longer chapter than I had expected. Only one chapter left - in which I will totally make it up to both the LW and Charon. Promise.

Apologies if the action in the scene didn't come off too well. I have problems describing that sort of thing, particularly fights, so I tend to be a little vague.

Thanks to those of you who had reviewed so far - I appreciate the feedback.


	4. At Last

****AN: ** **Thanks to those of you who've read and taken the time to review - I appreciate it. Hope you enjoyed the final installment. Hopefully it doesn't feel too rushed/forced. Remember - this is a kink meme fill so it will be basically total smut ;)

* * *

><p><strong>The Distance Apart<strong>

Something inside of her snapped into place when she heard him. When she saw him after all that time. She hadn't even realized she'd been _broken_ until they were here, standing on this damn bridge and she finally realized she felt _whole_.

And it all made sense. The way she couldn't sleep at night. Why she didn't give a damn about any of the guys she brought home. The dreams she'd have about him. How lonely she'd been. _Of course_ it'd been like that. _He_ hadn't been there.

Maybe her mind wouldn't let her realize it, catch up to what her body obviously knew, while he was gone. It was protecting her from mourning a love that would never come back. But he was _here_ goddamnit. Only a few feet between them and it made it _so easy_ to understand the past year and a half's feelings…

* * *

><p>Something about seeing her there triggered his "fight or flight" instincts. And no one was as surprised as him when it triggered the latter. It was too much of a shock to his system. He couldn't handle it. He wasn't equipped with the emotional capacity for a heartfelt reunion or an effective portrayal of disinterest. So before either could recover, he abruptly turned around and started walking off the bridge, praying that she would let him go.<p>

He only made it about five feet before her heard her following.

_Shit!_

* * *

><p><em>Fuck!<em> She thought as she snapped to attention and ran after him. Goddamn him and his long stride…

"Charon!" she yelled as he began to pull away from her. She would not be able to forgive herself if she let him walk away from her again. "Please, stop!" She thought he'd say something snarky about the contract being broken and not needing to listen to her. But he just picked up the pace, just short of a jog now. It crossed her mind that she might have to shoot him in the leg to get him to stay put. Not exactly Plan A.

_"Please!_" she nearly sobbed as he rounded a corner and briefly disappeared behind an upturned truck.

She was not prepared for the six plus feet of solid ghoul she ran into as she followed.

"Oof!" she said as she bounced back a little and fell flat on her ass. "Damnit, Charon, what the fuck!"

As she glared up at him, he tried not to smile down at her. Same dirty mouth. Same attitude. It was ridiculous that she could go from begging him to stay one second, to yelling at him the next. Though this mood swing was not unprecedented, he thought bitterly.

He'd only stopped because he'd hated the desperate note her voice took. Why he should care about hurting her feelings, he had no idea, but he did all the same.

While she got up and dusted herself off – he couldn't help but notice (and appreciate) that she'd filled out a little in the chest and hips (guess Vaulties were late bloomers) – he took the time to steel himself. He found any stray emotion that had to do with her, whether it be positive or negative, and locked it up in the corner of his mind. This was just a run-in with his former employer. He needed to be passive and unmoved by whatever she had to say.

Stopping to talk was just a fluke, the only display of emotion he would allow.

So when she finally met his eyes again, there was a hardness to them that she hadn't seen since they'd first met at the Ninth Circle. _Oh god, what if it's too late?_ But she dismissed the biting thought. She would follow him wherever he went and never let him out of her sight if that's what it took.

"What?" he barked when she just continued to stare, an unreadable expression on her (pretty) face. She winced at his tone and he pretended not to see. But as his eyes swept down, away from her eyes, he couldn't help but see the rest of her. Try as he might to convince himself that he was merely checking to make sure she was alright – that the super mutants or the Enclave or some other assholes hadn't permanently left a mark on her – he couldn't help resting his eyes on parts of her he'd never noticed before. Damnit, why _couldn't_ it have been a guy he'd rescued on the bridge?

"I just…" He wouldn't look her in the eye, and she hated that. He'd never avoided her gaze when they'd worked together before. It was just a harsh reminder that, technically, they'd never worked _together_. He'd worked _for_ her.

_And don't forget, you _fired_ him. What the fuck were you thinking?_ But Charon didn't seem any worse for wear. Maybe his belt was a little tighter and his armor a tad looser, but it'd been so long that she couldn't really say that with any certainty. _Looks like he got along just fine without you…_

When he'd had enough of her just standing there, looking so lost, he sparred her the awkwardness of having to finish her sentence. "If you don't have anything to say, I've got places to be."

That brought her attention back. He was being so… cold to her. Not that he was actually Mr. Sunshine and Rainbows beforehand, but still. They were… sort of friends, right? They had been at least. Once upon a time, in their own weird little way. Couldn't he offer her more than this?

She felt she had two choices right now if she wanted him to talk to her. She could beg and plead and hope to god he cared enough to listen. But Charon wasn't the type of man who gave in to pity. He respected strength. It would make him more nervous and uncomfortable if she started crying (which she probably would do if she let herself). But there was another choice before her. She could make him angry. Fire up _some_ emotion, _some _sort of reaction to her. Honestly, that could backfire too. Make him say "Fuck this damn vault kid" and walk away forever. But she felt it was probably her best chance.

"Charon, where the fuck could you possibly have to be?"

He starred at her like she'd grown a second head. The words "mood swing" came to mind. No trace of any sobs now. "Excuse me?"

"Oh come on, you heard me. You were never stupid or deaf. Where the hell do you need to be? Last I checked, no one gave a shit about ghouls enough to actually _expect_ one to come visit them."

She could see it was working. He might not be one to lose his temper, but she was slowly getting a rise out of him. Whatever he'd done to shield himself from her, to protect his real feelings about all this, he hadn't thought to keep his anger at bay.

"Maybe I just don't want to be near you, smoothskin." His tone was surprisingly neutral, probably because it was half true.

"Why the hell not?" She already knew the answer before the words even left her mouth.

"Why the hell not?" he demanded. No, nearly shouted. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. If it weren't for her armor, he'd probably be bruising her right now. That just made him squeeze her harder, wanting to mark her the way she'd marked him. "Why the hell not? You _fired_ me! Fired _me_!"

He was uncomfortably close. He'd _never_ been that close to her before. She could smell the gunpowder on his armor and a musky, masculine scent that filled her nose and her being and made her want to tremble. She could feel the heat of his hands as they pressed into her. _God_ did she want him.

"I tried to take it back!" Did she just lean into his grip? "I didn't want you to leave!" She could feel the fight going out of her. Of course he was right. She'd felt like shit about that for longer than she could stomach.

"Well maybe it's too damn late to be sorry about that." He didn't recognize the tone in his voice or the way his body was reacting to her proximity. Why were his hands moving? Why was one working its way down her back and the other behind her neck? Why did he want to bite her trembling lips and feel her writing beneath him- He almost moaned at the very idea of it.

He hadn't been this close to a woman (by choice) since he was a teenager, awkwardly fumbling with the buckle of his belt as one of the girls from his neighborhood teasingly pulled off her shirt and skirt in front of him. And here was this vault kid, not even trying to get him hard and he wanted nothing more than to lay claim to her.

God. Damn. This. Woman.

"..._Is_ it too late?" She leaned forward, neck tilted back to make eye contact. She had to dance on her tip toes just to get this close, took advantage of his grip to keep herself steady.

"Of course it's too late." Their lips were nearly touching. Another inch and the edges would graze each other. Why was he letting her get this close? "It's been over a year. So I'd say it's over a year too late."

"But what if _I_ am sorry?" she whispered. Her voice was quivering and she thought she might start shaking. She was hyper aware of where his hands were slowly burning holes through her soul. Held her breath as he brushed some stray hairs away from her eyes with his thumb. He didn't even seem to notice.

"Hmph," he snorted and she heard the challenge behind it. He was saying "Prove it."

With the other men she'd been with, they always took it slow. Gently kissed her and took their time working her up. Treated her like she was fragile. The delicate Lone Wanderer, raised in a Vault and needing to be looked after.

Those other men could all go to hell.

She threw herself against his body, hips first, arms flying around his neck and pulling him crashing to her lips. She took advantage of his surprised gasp and thrust her tongue inside his mouth and licked the edges of his teeth. He hesitated – she hoped from shock and not from disgust – but then drew her closer.

Charon kissed her back but let her lead. He might have fucked some of his employers under the will of the contract, yet it had always lacked the intimacy and intensity of this. _This_ was something else entirely. Kissing? While he enjoyed feeling her pressed against his ruined lips and exploring his mouth, he could think of any number of things he'd rather be doing to her.

Tentatively, he edged his hands closer to the hem of her pants but left them hovering there. He only hesitated because he had no fucking idea why they were doing this. She was the goddamn hero of the Wastes. A long time ago he'd finally admitted to himself that she was pretty. Beautiful even. There was no way to deny it when every other male they'd come across bent over backwards to help her. Even now he could barely admit that he'd missed her, needed her a lot more than he'd first suspected. So of course it was no surprise his body would betray him and want to fuck her. But what the hell could she want with him?

But even as his mind struggled over the decision to proceed, his hands knew what to do. He was pulling down her armored pants, vaguely missing her old vault suit (it at least would have been a lot easier to take off), enjoying the smoothness of her ass and thighs as his hands slid across them. She was everything he wasn't, fresh flesh and voluptuous curves that hid the muscle beneath. It made his feelings of inadequacy in comparison to this wonder of the Wastes (how anything like her could come out of a shit world like this he would never know) all the more apparent.

As he turned his attention away from his angst and awe, ignored how painfully tight his own armor was becoming and brought her hips up to meet his, teasing her as he rubbed his erection against her clit. If he couldn't equal her spirit, he could at least worship her body.

She broke the kiss to moan and tighten her grip on his neck. "Charon… more… please…"

He felt a tingle go down his spine. More? He could _definitely_ give her more.

Self-consciously, he started pulling down his own pants. As caught up as they were in the moment, nothing was a mood-killer for the average person than the thought of sleeping with a ghoul. She was all sweet words and tolerance in Underworld, might be able to stomach kissing him… but that didn't necessarily mean she'd want his cock inside her.

She kissed him again, enjoying how _right_ this felt, but noticed his apprehension. He was nervous about something. Second thoughts about doing this with her of all people? She pushed her forehead against his and rubbed slow circles in the back of his neck, trying to calm him down and waiting. Because yes, after nearly two years she could wait a little bit longer.

She'd never truly felt a ghoul's skin before, and she relished the opportunity to do so now. The remaining skin was surprisingly smooth, and the exposed muscle was taut and firm. She hoped the rest of his body – she especially craved to see his bare and no doubt perfectly sculpted chest – was like this. Missing skin and exposed flesh might freak some people out, but this was _Charon_. She'd accept him even if he had a gaping hole through his torso. All that physical need and longing she'd been transferring to other people had finally find the right outlet.

His rough legs were rubbing against hers, sending chills through her, but all he felt was a severe lacking. She could do better. She deserved better. She was confused, mixing up guilt and surprise with lust and desire. But the way she was looking at him…

He slammed her against the truck and lifted her so their hips were aligned. Never one for foreplay, he tilted her just enough to thrust in without opposition.

She was warm and tight, but even after who knows how many years since the last time, he could tell she wasn't a virgin (and he damn well knew she was one when she'd wandered out of the vault). She didn't wince or cry out as he took her maidenhood away from he. Her hips meet his thrusts too eagerly. The little minx had done this before and knew how to get what she wanted out of it. And it boiled his blood to think that someone – some punk shithead from Rivet City or Megaton or the Brotherhood – had touched her. Had taken what was by all rights _his_.

The growl that escaped his lips was almost feral as he imagined someone else inside of her. But he was here now and he was going to make damn sure she didn't forget him anytime soon.

"I hate you," he grunted as he continued to move in and out, each word accented with a deep thrust.

"Shut... up..." Of all the things she didn't want to hear while he fucked her...

"I really fucking hate you," he repeated. "You fired me. Watched me walk away. The _memory_ of you haunted me." _You took someone else to your bed while I sat alone in the middle of nowhere trying not to think about you._

"Then... stop... fucking me... you asshole..." It was the worst bluff he'd ever heard. Not that he'd ever call her on it.

Her left leg went up around his waist and the other tried to find purchase against the truck, the tips of her toes occasionally grazing the asphalt. Each stroke was unexpected and deep. Rubbed against her in ways that made her melt. She didn't even bother comparing him to the others. The way he had her mewling made it clear there'd never been any competition.

"Tell me you're mine," he growled and thrust a little harder than before.

"Fuck you," she laughed, and pulled him in again with her leg to prove her point.

But this time he stopped altogether, too deep inside for her to do anything. "Say it." She tried to buck against him but he wouldn't have any of it. If he'd been anyone else, he was sure he'd be dead in the next few seconds. Hell, he still might be. But then she glared at him and sucked in a malicious breath.

"GoddamnitCharonI'myoursyousonofabitch."

Any part of her that hated herself for saying it immediately gave way when he started fucking her with renewed vigor. "I know."

He wanted to see more of her. Taste her perky breasts, lick up the trails of sweat running down her neck and lap up her juices. He wanted to enjoy every part of her undoubtedly perfect body while he ravaged her again and again and had her screaming his name til her throat was raw. But they were both so desperate right now that he knew there was no time for that.

_Next time._ And he would make sure there definitely was a next time.

This was _completely_ new to her. She'd never felt an orgasm build with this much intensity before. The way it traveled up her navel and spread like fire. She could feel her face flush and as he fucked her closer into oblivion, more and more of her was going numb to anything but the pleasure between her legs. She was perfectly aware that she was alternating between screaming his name and screaming nothing at all. Sometimes she opened her mouth to cry out and couldn't find a single sound to articulate what she was feeling. Whatever he was doing to her just growing and growing inside of her and it would absolutely kill her if it didn't find a release soon.

In the end, it was the way he moaned "Mistress" against her neck that set her spiraling off the mountain of ecstasy he'd created for her.

With a final shriek he felt her internal muscles clench around him, tearing a mind-blowing climax from him.

They slid to the ground. The sun was setting behind the truck and all they could hear was their ragged panting and the occasional curse.

When her heart had calmed down enough, she rolled her hips slightly into him (and smiled at the noise he made) and asked, "So… 'Mistress,' huh?"

"Shut _up_."

She laughed and slammed her lips against his, her suggestive rocking starting to have its intended effect. As they started again, a little slower this time, she couldn't help but think that maybe the distance apart had been good for them.

His content growls seconded that.


End file.
